


Greatness in Small Things

by blue_eyed



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Teashop!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_eyed/pseuds/blue_eyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teashop!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greatness in Small Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://numberthescars.livejournal.com/profile)[**numberthescars**](http://numberthescars.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://holmestice.livejournal.com/profile)[**holmestice**](http://holmestice.livejournal.com/) & [](http://primalmusic.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://primalmusic.livejournal.com/)**primalmusic** for the read throughs, betaing, and cheerleading. Title from the quote: _"When tea becomes ritual, it takes its place at the heart of our ability to see greatness in small things."_ Muriel Barbery, The Elegance of the Hedgehog.

Five years ago, getting ready to ship out to Afghanistan, John had never imagined he’d one day be working in a small independent tea room. He had planned on being a doctor until he was too old to do it any more.

The routine was nice though, accepting deliveries first thing in the morning, re-filling the caddies with either bags or loose leaf as required, filling the display with cakes, scones, and various biscuits. The clientèle was small enough that a lot of the cakes were baked in the kitchen attached to the shop.

Most people took their tea to go, which meant using a bag. John much preferred it when someone asked for a pot of tea. The surprisingly complex ritual to making tea in a pot was soothing. Rinse the inside of the pot with hot water to warm, use that water to warm the cups. Fill teapot with hot water. Scoop tea into the pot (one scoop per person, additional one for the pot), place pot on tray. Place cups, saucers, spoons, and a tea strainer on the tray, with a bowl of sugar and a jug of milk (if required). Take tray to table, smile, ‘enjoy!’, and retreat.

John looked at the clock and unlocked the front door, flipping the sign to ‘Open’. The first customer came through the door a few minutes later.

Molly worked at Bart’s (John tried not to envy her, but it was hard sometimes), and came in every weekday morning for a cup of Earl Grey to go. John smiled and started making it before she got to the counter.

"Good morning," she said.

"Morning," John replied, filling up the cup. "Anything else I can get you?"

"Oh, no, I’ve only just had breakfast. Thanks, though."

He put a lid on the cup, and handed it to Molly.

"Two-fifty, please," John said, ringing it up. Molly handed the money over, gesturing to the tip jar when John tried to hand over her change.

"Thanks," John said. Molly just shook her head.

"I don’t think I’d be able to cope without this cuppa in the morning! Well worth the money." She inhaled the rich bergamot aroma. "Ugh, right, off to work I go. See you tomorrow."

"Have a good day," John said.  
~~~

The owner, Mrs. Hudson, walked through the door an hour later. She’d previously run the shop pretty much single-handed, until John had started ducking in.

The flat had seemed too small, too grey, and so he’d just walked out, down the street, turning left and right almost randomly, just to see something new.

His leg had just started to get pretty painful when he’d spotted the small shop, nestled between a second-hand furniture shop and a book shop. John had ducked in and ordered a tea, sitting in the window. He had relaxed, hands curled around a cup of tea, Radio 4 playing softly in the background.

It had become a ritual; John started bringing a paper, or a book, and Mrs. Hudson would sometimes sit with him if the shop was quiet, making small talk. Eventually she had offered him a job. Her hip, she had said, was starting to be an issue, and she’d like to have a lazy morning once in awhile.

John had planned to try and get back into work as a doctor - find a practice somewhere looking for a GP - even if it was just casual hours. First he had to get through his therapy, get to a place where he felt he could work. It wasn't that he thought that he would be a danger, especially as the majority of cases he'd come across would be fairly basic infections and ailments. It was the fractured remains of his feelings, the images of blood and sand that haunted some of his nights. How could he offer help and support if he needed so much himself?

The PTSD was, to understate the issue, a problem.

So he'd taken the job at the teashop, because he needed to pay the bills and he really needed a way of passing the time that wasn't shitty daytime TV. He'd grown to like it; Mrs. Hudson was certainly the easiest boss he'd ever had. His therapist loved it, making notes on his rehabilitation, which was a bonus.

John looked up as the bell above the door tinkled, praying that it wasn’t tourists again. The couple who walked in the door were obviously business people - sharp, fitted suits and smartphones. John waited patiently by the till until they had looked up from their phones.

"One pot of English Rose, please," the man ordered, barely glancing at the wall full of tea caddies behind John. "Two cups."

"Yes, sir. Will that be all?" The man’s eyes slid over to the cream tea set (scone, strawberry jam, tub of clotted cream), and he sighed before shaking his head.

"Just the tea, please."

John rang it up and handed the man his change. "If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll bring the tea over to you. Would you like milk and sugar? Or lemon?"

"Just milk, thank you."

John set to work, boiling fresh water. He took the tray over to the table and set out the tea.

"Thank you," the man said.

"Enjoy," John said, smiling, and walked away.  
~~~  
They lingered at the table, clearly talking shop. John tried not to listen but caught enough to amend his impression of ‘business people’ to ‘involved in international business’ or possibly ‘civil servants or government workers’.

He cleared their table, stacking up the cups.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"No, I think we’re done here?" he asked the woman, who nodded sharply. "The tea was wonderful, thank you," the man said, smiling warmly.

"Thank you," John said, idly noticing how nice the man’s smile was.

"It’s hard to find someone willing to put the time into making tea."

"The boss wouldn’t be happy if I treated the tea badly - like sacrilege," John said, finishing piling up the crockery but not picking up the tray yet, wanting to prolong the conversation a bit.

"I agree with your boss."

"I’ll let her know," John said. The woman let out a small cough, and the man looked at her, flushing slightly.

"Well, yes. We must go. Thank you again."

"Thank you. Enjoy the rest of your day," John said, picking up the tray.

"And you."  
~~~  
The man came in again a week later, alone this time. He looked at the array of tea behind John.

"Hello."

"Hello, again. What can I get you?"

"What would you recommend?" he asked.

"What do you normally drink?"

"I’m a traditionalist," he said, almost apologetically.

"In that case, how adventurous are you feeling?" John asked.

The man flushed, and John bit his lip, trying not to grin. He’d forgotten how much fun flirting was, especially with someone responsive.

"Surprise me," the man replied, recovering quickly.

"Well, take a seat and I’ll bring something over. You can pay when you’ve finished."

"Very well," the man said, taking a seat at the same table as his previous visit.

John turned and frowned at the caddies. He didn’t know much about the man, but he did remember the longing look he had given the cakes. John smiled and picked up the chocolate blend. A simple black tea with cocoa beans for a hint of chocolate. Perfect for a sweet tooth who was unable or unwilling to indulge it.

He brewed the tea and took it over, surprisingly anxious. He wanted to impress the man.

"Thank you."

"I’ll leave you to try it, let me know what you think." John set the tea out then retreated behind the counter, washing up some cups. He was trying not to listen to the man pour out the tea. It would still be too hot to drink, especially as he hadn’t set out milk. He froze when he heard the tinkling of the china cup being picked up.

"You can stop listening now," the man called from the table.

"Do you like it, though?" John asked, giving up the pretence of working and walking over to the table.

The man nodded. "I wasn’t expecting chocolate. How did you know?"

"The last time you came in, you looked like you really wanted a cream tea, but you didn’t have one. I don’t know a sweet tooth who doesn’t like chocolate." John shrugged.

The man raised an eyebrow, and John shifted uncomfortably, wondering if the man now thought he was a creepy stalker type.

"You have a good memory," was what the man actually said, much to John’s relief.

"We don’t get many new faces."

The man nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Mycroft Holmes," he said, holding out a hand. John blinked, realising the man was introducing himself.

"John Watson," he said, shaking Mycroft’s hand.

"Will you join me? I think good tea deserves company, don’t you?"

"Let me grab a cup," John said. He poked his head into the kitchen. "I’m just taking a break, but I’ll go serve if someone walks in."

"Fine, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, elbow-deep in a bowl.

He returned and sat down, pouring himself a cup. The tea was brewed just right. It wasn’t one of John’s favourites but it was warming.

"This is a nice place," Mycroft said, after a pause.

"Yeah," John said. "I like it. I like how - airy - it is." He preferred the bright openness of it compared to the darker, more cramped layout favoured by coffee shop chains. Mycroft nodded.

"I’ll have to visit more often."

"Always glad to get another regular," John said. "So, what brought you here? Not many people find us who aren't tourists."

The man shrugged. "I was in the area - my brother has just moved not too far from here."

"And you decided you needed to come in for a cup of tea?"

"I needed a break before going back to work. He can be irritating, my brother, but he's family."

"I know how that goes," John muttered. The man raised his eyebrows but didn't ask.

"So what do you do?"

"I occupy a minor role in the Government."

John nodded. "I'd guessed either that or businessman."

"And you? You don't look the type to work in a teashop."

"I'm a doctor," John said, steeling himself for the onslaught.

"Not any more, though." It wasn't a question.

"Not at the moment," John replied.

"My mistake. So this is a temporary occupation?"

John nodded, and fought not to squirm under the man’s sharp gaze.

"Do you enjoy it?"

"It's nice - the routine, the customers of course," John said, raising a smile from Mycroft. "And I get free tea, which is a bonus."

Mycroft huffed a laugh. John smiled back, glad the conversation had moved back to safer waters. Mycroft poured the last dregs of tea from the teapot. John took a sip, frowning at the acrid taste.

"Hmm, bit too stewed," Mycroft agreed. "Do you sell tea here?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Well, I shall have to keep returning for my fix." John grinned into his cup, draining it.

"I should get back to work."

"Of course, I hope your boss doesn't mind the interruption."

"I'll win her forgiveness," John said.

"I'm sure you will." Mycroft stood up, picking up his umbrella. "How much do I owe you?"

They walked over to the counter and John rang the tea through the till. Mycroft paid, and dropped a chunk of change in the tip jar.

"Thank you," John said.

"Thank you. Goodbye, John."

"See you," John said. Mycroft stretched a hand over the counter, and John shook it again, the contact lingering for slightly longer this time.

John watched Mycroft walk out of the door. It had been ages since he'd even considered flirting with anyone, much less had someone flirt with him. Even if Mycroft didn’t come back, it had been an enjoyable way to while away some time. John hoped he did come back though; he wanted to get to know him better, maybe even spend some time with him outside of the shop.

~~~

John was pleasantly surprised when Mycroft appeared again two days later. He smiled, making his way toward the counter.

"Hello John."

"Mycroft. What can I get you?"

"Hmm, Earl Grey, I think," he said.

"A classic," John said, turning to get the caddy. "Staying in?"

"Yes, I’ve got time," Mycroft said. "Will you-" he broke off and turned as someone walked through the door. "Ah, well. I’ll take a seat. I would like a word, if you get time."

"Of course," John said, suddenly tense with anticipation. He couldn’t quite gauge Mycroft’s expression. John didn’t have much time to think about it though, turning to serve the next customer.

A couple of groups walked in - some students who liked to use the cafe as a meeting place for studying, and a family - and John called Mrs. Hudson to help as he brewed Mycroft’s tea. He set out the tray, and headed to Mycroft’ table.

"Looks like I’m not going to get a break anytime soon, sorry. What was it you wanted?"

"Here," Mycroft said, handing him a card. "Call me after work? We can talk then."

"Is it meant to sound ominous?"

"Not at all," Mycroft said, smiling.

"Good." John took the card out of Mycroft’s hand. He tucked it safely into his pocket and then headed back behind the counter to make more tea. Mrs. Hudson gave him a look which John pointedly ignored.

Mycroft left with a wave, and John waved back, pausing in his work to watch him walk out of the door and duck into a car.

"He seems like a nice man," Mrs. Hudson said, nudging John. John bit back a smile, and got on with his work.

~~~

That night John held the phone in one hand, and the card in the other. He took a deep breath, and dialled the number, praying it didn’t go to voicemail; he always sounded like an idiot when faced with voicemail.

"Hello," Mycroft answered.

"Hi, it’s John."

"John, hello."

"You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes, my original plan was to ask you to dinner. However," Mycroft said, sighing. "I have to go out of the country on business, and I won’t be back for two weeks, maybe slightly longer."

"When do you leave?" John frowned, heart sinking.

"Tomorrow, unfortunately."

"The airport isn’t the best place for a date," John commented, biting back his disappointment. "It’ll have to wait until you come back."

"Of course," Mycroft said. "I didn’t know if you’d mind waiting."

"I think I can cope," John replied.

"I’ll keep in touch," Mycroft said. "The time zone will make things awkward, but I’m sure we can manage."

"Can I ask where you’re going?"

"I can’t answer that," Mycroft said, apologetically.

"Fair enough." They’d spoken for less than two hours if you added it all up, it made sense that Mycroft couldn’t tell him. He was curious though. Shame all he knew was somewhere with a time zone that would make real-time communication awkward. Which was a fair amount of the globe.

"I should go," Mycroft said, regretfully.

"Of course. Have a good journey."

"Thank you. Sleep well."

"Bye."

"Goodbye."

~~~

John grinned the next day when he saw the message notification.

_When Dante wrote about the levels of hell he missed out the one containing airports_

_At least it's only a temporary level. You'll move up to 'hotel' soon._ he replied.

When John got home he took his phone out of his pocket immediately and put it on the arm of the sofa. Just in case.

The next morning he received:

_Good morning_

_Do I want to know what time it is wherever you are?_

_I can never sleep in hotel rooms, and jetlag is horrible_

John looked at his watch. He really should be leaving, and as much as Mrs. Hudson thought Mycroft was 'a nice man', he didn't think using him as an excuse for being late would fly.

_Get some rest, I'll text you on my break_

_Have a good morning_

He got a photo one day, a cityscape at night, lit up. There were no common landmarks, nothing obvious, just a rather pretty picture. He responded the next day with a photo of a delivery of the chocolate tea Mycroft was so fond of.

_Save some for me_

The texts tapered off for a while - John assumed that Mycroft was busy doing whatever government business he was there on - but he often woke up to a message wishing him a good night's sleep.

John was pretty sure he'd never used so much of his text allowance in his life. He was having far too much fun to stop.

 _I know you probably don't get weekends off, but I'm very glad it's friday_ he sent, collapsed on his sofa.

_You're right, I don't often. Got any plans?_

_Watch the Grand Prix and rest_

_Sounds relaxing_

John tried to imagine Mycroft watching sports, maybe the cricket, rugby at a stretch, but he couldn’t really do it.

 _What do you do to relax?_ John sent, curious.

_I like to read, mostly. I don’t get a lot of free time_

_Thats a shame_

_You get used to it. And I enjoy my work_

_Well that’s something, I guess_ John replied.

There wasn’t a reply for a few minutes and John looked at the clock. It was 9pm, and he wondered what time it was there, whether Mycroft had been called away for a meeting, or lunch, or even breakfast.

 _Can I ask why you’re not a doctor at the moment?_ was what John did get, about ten minutes later.

John sighed, torn. It probably wasn’t a story to be told over a text, but the distance might be useful. John wouldn’t have to deal with the pity, Mycroft could back away easily if he didn’t want to deal with John’s baggage.

 _I was in the Army. I was invalided out. Not fit for practice quite yet_ Then he quickly sent another.

_Why did you ask?_

_I wondered if your text about me enjoying my work was slightly bitter_

_Only slightly._ John replied. He quickly followed it up with _sorry if I made things awkward_

_Not at all. Thank you for telling me_

John re-read the message, relaxing slightly. It was an interesting response – no pressure, no offer to listen if John needed to talk. No running for the hills either, a little voice in the back of his head pointed out.

John replied.

_Thank you. Good night_

_Sleep well, John_

~~~  
John woke up shouting hoarsely. He fumbled at the switch for the lamp and sighed as a pool of light spread over the bed.

He lay back down, aware he was drenched in sweat. He tried to breathe steadily as he forced the mangled images of his dreams out of his head. He picked up his phone – 3am, not the best time for him to be awake, but he wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon.

John got up and made himself a cup of tea. He snapped a quick picture and sent it to Mycroft with the message _Good morning_. He felt needy and wanted to reach out, to try and get out of his own head.

_A very early good morning. Are you all right?_

_Rough night_

_Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do to help?_

_Distraction would be useful, if you can talk_

John’s phone rang.

"Hello?"

"John," Mycroft said.

"I didn’t – this will cost you a fortune," John said, astounded.

"I have a contract. I prefer to call whenever possible." There was a clattering noise at Mycroft’s end of the line. "Now, I’ve just poured a cup of tea – not as nice as yours but I’ll take what I can get. Are you alright?"

John blew out a long breath. He hadn’t been prepared for a phone call, not that he was going to complain.

"I’m ok," he said. "Just - trouble sleeping. What time is it over there?"

"About 8pm," Mycroft said. "I’m all done for the day."

"That’s nice," John said. "Got any plans for the rest of the evening?"

"Not really. Have a drink, order some room service."

"Sounds nice," John said, taking a sip of his tea. He moved to the armchair, trying to relax a bit. Mycroft hummed non-committally.

"I assume you’re at work today?"

"Unfortunately. I’ll need a lot of tea to get through the day."

"Well, you’ll be in the right place."

"True," John said, stifling a yawn.

"You should get some sleep."

"You should talk to me," John countered, unwilling to finish the conversation.

"About what?"

"Anything."

"Very well," Mycroft said, after a pause. He started telling John about the hotel staff, and how he could tell the concierge was having it off with one of the receptionists. It was silly gossip, but Mycroft’s voice was nice and soothing, chasing away the lingering images of his nightmare.

Eventually Mycroft made an apologetic noise, "I really must go now."

"Of course, sorry."

"Did I help at all?"

"You did, thank you," John said.

"Try to get some more sleep," Mycroft said. "I’ll send you a message later."

"Ok, thanks."

"You’re very welcome."

"’Night, Mycroft," John said. They hung up, and John finished his tea. He checked the time – he still had three hours before he had to get up for work. He got back into bed, hoping he’d be able to rest, even if he couldn’t get back to sleep.

John must have dozed off, because he jerked awake when his alarm went off. He groaned as he turned it off, dragging himself out of bed. He checked his phone, there was the usual message from Mycroft wishing him a good day. John grinned, and ran a thumb over the screen. He sent a quick one back, and set about getting his breakfast ready, feeling happy, if not wide awake.

~~~  
 _Flying home tomorrow_

John grinned when he saw the text. It had been an odd two and a half weeks. John had spoken to Mycroft every day, and it was surprising how comfortable they had got with each other through those messages. He was looking forward to actually seeing Mycroft again though.

_Good. Have a good journey_

It was evening the next day when John got the next text.

_Landed safely. Jet lag is horrible again. Everyone should be on GMT_

_Hope the journey wasn't too bad. Get some sleep_

John didn't hear from Mycroft for two days; he assumed Mycroft was busy sorting himself out, getting back on track.

His phone rang the third evening, Mycroft's name popping up on the screen. John’s heart leapt and he answered the phone.

"Hello Mycroft."

"John." John smiled; it was nice to hear Mycroft’s voice.

"You back in the right time zone?" he asked, swallowing against the anticipation curling through his stomach.

"Just about," he said. "How are you?"

"Same old," John said.

"Good. Are you free this weekend?"

"Yes, I am." John smiled.

"Would you like to go to dinner?"

"Yes, that would be great."

"Saturday night?"

"That works fine for me," John said.

"Excellent. If you give me your address, I can pick you up at eight."

"Where are we going?"

"What would you prefer?"

"I'll eat most food. Somewhere where there's not going to be more than two sets of cutlery, and I can get away with not wearing a full tuxedo would be my only requests."

"I'll take that into consideration," Mycroft said, sounding deeply amused.

When they hung up, John sent Mycroft his address.  
~~~

Mrs. Hudson squealed alarmingly when he gave the latest update about ‘his nice man’, shoving tea and a crumpet at him and demanding details. She kept smiling at him throughout the day, and John couldn’t help but smile back.

Thursday evening she bullied her way into his flat and went through his wardrobe.

"I can actually dress myself," John pointed out.

"Don’t be silly, dear, I don’t mind helping. Here, try this." She handed him a dark shirt he hadn’t even seen in years. He moved to the bathroom and put it on. It still fit, just about, and Mrs. Hudson nodded approvingly.

"Very nice, dear. Very dashing," she said, brushing some lint off his collar.

"I don’t think I count as dashing," John said.

She just tutted at him.

"Take these off and give them to me – I’ll iron them and bring them to the shop tomorrow."

"It’s really not necessary-"

"Do you even have an iron?"

"Well, no."

"You can’t show up crumpled. That’s for after dinner," she commented, and John gaped. He would never stop being surprised by her.

"Thank you," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek before heading back into the bathroom to change.

~~~

John smoothed his (crease-less, thank you, Mrs. Hudson) shirt down nervously. It was odd, the idea of seeing Mycroft outside of the familiar trappings of the shop. John was equal parts excited and nervous.

When his door knocked, he almost jumped out of his skin. He took a deep breath and opened it. Mycroft smiled.

"Hello John." Mycroft wasn’t wearing a suit – well, he was, shirt, tie, jacket. But no waistcoat. He looked...oddly underdressed. John was thankful though, partly because Mycroft looked nice when not hidden under four layers, and partly because John felt more comfortable.

"Hi," John said, feeling a bit self-conscious as Mycroft looked at him appraisingly. "Do I pass muster?" he asked, only slightly seriously.

"Oh, definitely," Mycroft said, voice deepening. John swallowed, flushing suddenly.

"We should – food?" John asked.

"I have a car waiting," Mycroft said.

John grabbed his jacket, wallet, and keys, and followed Mycroft down the steps.

~~~

Mycroft had taken John’s requests into account. The restaurant was nice but not too posh. They had a table tucked into a corner, offering them privacy.

When the waiter had poured them their wine Mycroft offered a toast.

"To getting there, eventually." He raised his glass with a wry smile. John shook his head, but clinked his glass gently against Mycroft’s.

It was nice, sitting with their legs kicked together, eating by candlelight. The conversation flowed easily between them and they lingered over their drinks. Eventually Mycroft asked for the bill, insisting - over John’s objection - that he pay for the meal.

"I chose the venue," Mycroft countered. He pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it over before John had a chance to do anything else. "You can pay for the next one, if you must."

John closed his mouth and nodded. "Next time," he repeated, smiling.

They walked out of the restaurant, Mycroft’s hand warm at the base of John’s spine. The car pulled up at the kerb and they got in.

"I’ll take you back to your flat?" Mycroft asked as the car started.

John leant over carefully, hoping they didn’t run over a pothole. He kissed Mycroft, who made a surprised noise in the back of his throat.

"I’d rather go back to yours."

Mycroft nodded and leant forward, tapping on the glass partition to get the driver’s attention.

John grinned and pulled Mycroft in for another kiss as he felt the car change direction.

~~~

John woke up the next morning, confused for a moment before the events of the previous night came back to him. He blinked over at the other side of the bed, which was empty. John got out of bed, pulling on his trousers. He checked his phone out of habit; no messages, but then he wasn’t expecting any. As far as he could tell, last night had gone very well (it had certainly ended well), and John had no idea why he’d woken up alone.

John left the bedroom and wandered down the stairs, listening for any signs of Mycroft. He followed the clattering sounds to a door off the living room. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open, and walked into a large kitchen.

Mycroft looked up. He was wearing a dressing gown, and was filling up a teapot with water. Next to him on the counter was a tray, set with cups.

"Ah, you’re awake."

"Yes," John said, slowly. "You’re making tea?"

"Yes, I thought you’d appreciate it."

John smiled. "Next time, wait til I wake up before getting out of bed."

Mycroft flushed. "Apologies," he muttered.

"Don’t worry about it. Tea is very important." John took a seat at the kitchen table, watching Mycroft finish.

Mycroft carried the tray to the table and poured the tea.

"I could get used to someone serving me tea. Makes a nice change," John said, taking a sip. "Oh, this is good tea. What is it?"

"Couldn’t possibly give away my secret," Mycroft said.

"Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back for my fix," John said.


End file.
